Paper Faces
by baileybijoux
Summary: Instead of leaving with Raoul, Christine stays with her beloved Phantom. But what happens when Christine dies and leaves poor Erik alone with their daughter?


A/N: Okay...so first story I've ever put up here. I'm absolutely terrifed...but I know you guys will benice.I think. Anyways, I wrote this for my English class (we had to write a story...on any topic we wanted), and I got a94 on it. Don'tknow why...but yeah. So here it goes. (By the way...I'm only thirteen so if you find this in any way immature...that's probably why.)

Disclaimer: I don'town any of these characters except for Annabelle. They belong to the wonderful men Gaston Leroux and Andrew LloydWebber.

Part I

Erik sat on the corner of his bed, not knowing what to do with his life. In his hands laid eight-month-old Annabelle, fast asleep. Again in his darkening life, he was without love. Christine had died the past week at only the age of eighteen, of unknown circumstances. She had left him with their child, his little angel. Her head was full of dark curls, and her eyes were a deep, soulful brown just like her mother's. Annabelle looked like Erik, though. But all he needed was to be able to look into those eyes again, and he could imagine his love from long ago.

Annabelle whimpered and opened her eyes, making direct contact with her beloved father. She reached her arms up to him, and Erik lifted her up. He started to hum a familiar tune in her ear, and it made her giggle. He stroked the top of her head, and looked into her eyes. All he could see was his Christine, his beautiful, innocent Christine. "Say you'll share with me," he sang softly. He tried to keep in his tears, because he knew that his sweet little Annabelle didn't like it when he cried.

"One love, one lifetime," he started. But by then Annabelle was fast asleep again, her head against his chest. "My sweet child," he said, "I really do wish you could remember your mother. I wish you could hear her voice again, oh, it truly did sound like an angel. She was so beautiful and perfect in every way. Dear little Annabelle."

He laid the only part of Christine he had left into her crib, and he shut the door behind him. He leaned up against the wall, and let out a wail. He slid down and ran his hands through his hair. "Oh, Christine," he sobbed. "If you could only see her one more time, if you could sing her one last song, she will remember it forever. My love, I promise."

But before he could let out another sob, he heard something that was so unbelievable he couldn't believe his ears. "Angel of music…guide and guardian…grant to me your glory." It was Christine, no doubt. Her voice, it vibrated through out the halls, through the air. Through Erik's ears and his mind. "Thank you, my darling Christine," he whispered, not knowing if she had heard him or not.

The years passed, and Annabelle grew to be exactly like her mother. Though she had inherited her father's looks, her personality, her innocence, and her singing had been passed down from her mother. Every once in a while, when Annabelle would lie in her bed, she could hear her mother's voice ringing in her ears.

Madame Giry, Annabelle's beloved Grandmother, had passed on when she was six, leaving young Meg as the ballet mistress. Meg had persuaded Annabelle to join the ballet when she was eight years old, finding she, also like Christine, had a passion for the arts.

The night grew cold, and Annabelle had slipped her robe over her thin white nightgown. At sixteen, she was still very fond of her father. Box Five was still left empty for him, to dote upon his dancing daughter.

She turned to stare at the painting that hung above her bed along with her old toe shoes and sheet music. Her father had painted it for her for her sixth birthday. It was a portrait of her mother, and she stared at it longingly. But before she was able to let out a tear, she slipped out of the door heading to her father's room.

"Father?" She knocked, peeking her head from the door. He sat in his chair in front of the fireplace, a book open in his hands. "Yes, my child," he replied, putting the book on a table and turning to face his daughter. Annabelle did not say anything, but slowly walked over to him. "What do you want, Annabelle, I can see the look in your eyes," he sighed, the porcelain mask hanging over his face.

"You've never…never really shown me what was under your mask," she whispered quietly. He stood up quickly, still in the tuxedo he wore from attending the performance earlier that evening. "It is too frightening, dear. There is no need for nightmares," he smiled, welcoming her into his arms. "But why can't you show me? I do truly love you, father, this won't come between our bond," Annabelle pleaded softly.

Erik had dreaded this day since the moment Annabelle had been brought into this world. She is old enough now, he thought, and he lifted his hand up to the white, fragile mask that had hidden his daughter from terror. He quickly tore it off, and Annabelle stared in wonderment, with a flicker of horror in her eyes. "Oh, father, there is no need for me to be frightened of you. I can still love you despite of this, and I know mother would be quite alright with it," Annabelle smiled lovingly, and put both hands on either side of his face. "You shouldn't be discouraged because of it; I love you for who you are inside. You are a musical genius, and you are my father. I am a part of you and I share this secret with you."

Erik broke down at the thought of Christine; he did still love her passionately. Now knowing that Annabelle loved him more than anything in this world made him cry harder. "Father, please don't. I didn't mean it like this," she led him to his bed, where he sat down, and Annabelle beside him. "Oh, Christine, come back to me please," he begged to no one in particular. "Father, look at me. Please," she put her hands to his face and turned his head toward her.

Her hand traced the disfigurement of his face, before placing a loving kiss on the tear-streaked cheek. "Mother is here, you know. She sings to me every night before I fall asleep, and sometimes when I am dreaming. Her voice is so beautiful, father. I just want to see her in flesh, and I want her to hold me. I want her to see me dance, and watch my passion. I want her to love you, father, hold you, kiss you, just one more time."

Erik looked up in bewilderment at his only child. There were also tears forming in her eyes, and she embraced her father. Erik could only think or say but one thing…

"She is your Angel of Music."

_fin_


End file.
